


When the end comes

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Retirement, life after football
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-16
Updated: 2010-07-16
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:46:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On the day of his very last professional match, Gonzalo reflects on retirement and what comes next.





	When the end comes

Today is the end. He's known for weeks, months, that today was coming and yet when he realises exactly what today means he feels a lump in his throat he can't swallow down and his eyes feel wet. 

Today is his very last match. The team's already won the league, the runner-up is 10 points behind them, and they have celebrated their victory and will do so again tonight. For the whole game his mind is completely focused on the game, and he even manages to score a goal that his twenty two year old self would have been proud of. Then the final whistle blows. 

And it's all over. The other players mob him, and the opposing team shake hands with him, the occasional hug from ones he's known for longer. His team surrounded him, and they hold onto him, and he can feel the tears building up. Then there's the lap of honour, watched by a sell out stadium, thousands here and millions elsewhere. His children join him in their replica shirts, his son watches the crowd in wonder as his daughter demands a piggy-back ride, and he feels a stab of realisation as he lifts his daughter onto his shoulders. 

The look on his son's face is the same as his was when he watched his father's final match. This, more than the jokes his teammates have made, makes him realise just how old he is now, and how much is going to change. 

He'll go home tonight, and tomorrow morning there will be no pressing reason for him to wake up. No morning training, no press conferences, no public relations, no more pre-match preparation, no more pain of losing or thrill of winning. He thought he was tired of it, wanted a normal life, spend time with his children, and maybe even move back to Argentina. 

But this has been his life, and he’s not sure what a normal life is anymore. This world, as unreal as it is, has been his home for the past twenty odd years, and he's not prepared as he thought to leave it.

"Daddy," his daughter suddenly asks from behind him, while he keeps a tight grip on his son's hand as he pulls the two ahead, eager to catch up with the other boys. "Why are you crying?" He hadn't even realised he had been. 

"Because it's sad to leave things, princess."

"Then why are you leaving?" She asks flatly, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. 

Because he has to. His career has run its course. He's thirty six years old, the club were reluctant to renew his contract, and who wants a striker that old? He'd retired from international football years ago, when he saw all the new talent coming through, uninjured, young, fresh-faced forwards ready to take on the world, and as much as it had hurt to do so, he knew it was time to step aside and let them have their chance too. 

"Because sometimes you have to leave, even if it's sad." He can hear the crowd chanting his name and his daughter clumsily attempts to wipe his eyes for him. He can see a sign in the crowd, written in awful Spanish, saying "thank you Higuaín, we forget you not!" His son tugs more on his hand as his manager gets hold of a microphone and starts talking to the crowd. 

"And of course, today we say goodbye to one of our players – Gonzalo Higuaín." The crowd cheers and whistles, and his coach motions for him to come to the microphone. He lifts his daughter down from his shoulders, and keeps hold of both of his children as he takes the microphone. He looks at the crowd, the flash from cameras popping, people chanting his name, and he wipes his eyes on the back of his hand as he thinks about what he should say. 

He tells them that he’ll never forget them, and thanks them for being there every step of the way. He never thought he’d find a club quite like this one, he's proud to have played for them; that he couldn’t have asked for a better final season, and wishes them all the luck in the world. 

They stand up in their seats as they clap him, a standing ovation to the end of a career. He's suffered from horrible injuries, lost some awful games, had press campaigns against him and had some serious arguments with various members of backroom staff. But he's helped to lift cups at club and international level, scored some amazing goals, won some beautiful games and had shy young boys wearing his shirt tell him that he's their hero. The good and the bad all come together in the end. 

When he walks off the field into the tunnel, still holding the hands of his children, he thinks he hears a shy laugh behind him, a familiar one and he looks behind him. For a moment he swears he sees a boyish mess of hair on a nineteen year old frame with a white and red jersey. But then it’s gone, and he doubts that he saw anything at all. 

He frames the shirt he wore that day. It stays on the wall of his home for years. His son makes it as a professional, although he's a defender just like his grandfather. His daughter becomes a successful businesswoman and marries a man who buys awful Christmas presents. When they visit his grandchildren ask him about the shirt, and about the days when he was a famous footballer. They always sound disbelieving that their grandfather ever did the things he tells them about. His grandson kicks a match ball through a window when he's left alone for a few minutes. There is life after football, Gonzalo discovers. 

But he doesn't forget the end.


End file.
